


de l'amour, des efforts, des retours

by kitseybarbours



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aftercare, Canon Asexual Character, Cis Martin Blackwood, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Small Penis, Soft Dom Martin Blackwood, Submissive Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26040040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitseybarbours/pseuds/kitseybarbours
Summary: They’ve been planning this for a few days now: a phone sex date, their first. Jon still isn’t keen on doing anything in person, but he also wants to respect the fact that Martin, well, really likes having sex. He had been at a loss as to what to suggest as a compromise—he’s not comfortable having his genitals touched by anyone else, and even the thought of touching himself in front of someone makes him leery.But, as is his way, Martin had been the one to save the day. ‘Phone sex?’ he’d suggested. ‘I touch myself, you touch yourself—or don’t?’
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, mentioned Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 285





	de l'amour, des efforts, des retours

**Author's Note:**

> A note on terms: The words used for Jon's anatomy are 'cock,' 'slit,' and 'cunt.' Martin implies that Jon's cock isn't a 'real' cock during sex, but it's consensual dirty talk and Jon understands as much. They also debrief on this during aftercare.
> 
> Title from [J'attends](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jz6GoGKyQVM) by Ben Mazué ft. Pomme.

* * *

When Jon’s phone rings at half-past nine precisely, he jumps to answer it with alarming speed. He nearly drops it as he swipes to take the call, and fumbles to press it to his ear, cursing. ‘Hi,’ he says, breathlessly. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi, sweetheart,’ comes Martin’s voice on the other end, laughing softly. ‘You all right?’

‘Yes. Fine. Just, ah—wound up.’ Jon clears his throat.

‘That’s okay. You still up for this?’

Jon nods, and nods again, and then remembers Martin can’t see him. ‘Yes. Yes! Yes, I am. I, ah. You’re gonna need to…walk me through it, though.’

They’ve been planning this for a few days now: a phone sex date, their first. Jon still isn’t keen on doing anything in person, but he also wants to respect the fact that Martin, well, really likes having sex. He had been at a loss as to what to suggest as a compromise—he’s not comfortable having his genitals touched by anyone else, and even the thought of touching himself in front of someone makes him leery.

But, as is his way, Martin had been the one to save the day. ‘Phone sex?’ he’d suggested. ‘I touch myself, you touch yourself—or don’t?’

‘Yes,’ Jon had agreed at once. For all his hesitations, he is genuinely curious to know what Martin sounds like, how he gets, in sexual situations. And when Martin had offered to tell Jon what to do, the deal had only gotten sweeter. He’s never been too fussed to explore his own pleasure, but the thought is immensely more appealing with Martin as his guide.

‘Of course I will,’ Martin soothes him now. ‘I’ll be in charge, yeah? You just listen to me and do what I tell you—unless you don’t want to do it, of course. You can’t do anything wrong here, okay?’

‘Okay,’ Jon says, relieved.

Part of the reason he’d been so nervous when Martin first confessed his feelings to him—feelings that Jon shared, and had for a long time, though it had taken nearly as long for him to admit as much even to himself—was that their sexual needs were definitively at odds with each other…or so he’d thought.

Martin loves sex; Jon knows this, Jon’s always known this; he and Tim have been hooking up casually for years, and making no secret of it, either. Jon, on the other hand, hasn’t had sex since uni, and never enjoyed it all that much back then. He can understand the appeal on a theoretical level, but doesn’t really see the point when applied to himself.

But when they finally sat down and had the conversation one night in Martin’s kitchen, Martin sitting patiently as Jon stammered and temporised and couldn’t look him in the eye, it turned out that it was much less of a hurdle than Jon had feared. ‘That’s fine,’ Martin said with a shrug. ‘I know how to get myself off. I’m really quite good at it, if I do say so myself.’

‘You’re not…angry?’ Jon had said hesitantly.

Martin frowned. ‘Of course not. I know how you feel about sex. Did you think I was going to make you—?’

Jon had half-shrugged, his face burning.

‘God, no,’ Martin said, stricken. ‘I want this to work out on both of our terms. We’ll figure it out, yeah? Sex is a bonus, not a requirement. Being with you is enough.’

(It was at that point that Jon had lost his words entirely, and crossed to the other side of the table to sink into Martin’s arms.)

Just remembering this makes Jon relax a little more. He still thinks he’ll feel better once Martin’s taken the reins, though, so:

‘What should I…How do we start?’ He gives a nervous laugh.

Martin hums. ‘Why don’t you tell me where you are, and what you’re wearing,’ he suggests. ‘Or I can go first, if you like.’

‘Mm. If you don’t mind.’

‘Sure thing. I’m in bed,’ Martin tells him, ‘and I’m wearing boxers and a T-shirt. I’m sitting up in bed, against the headboard. Can you picture me like that?’

‘Yes,’ Jon murmurs, letting his eyes slide shut. Martin’s room is small and cosy, and Jon feels very safe in his bed, where they’ve often taken naps together—fully clothed, Martin pressing kisses between Jon’s shoulder-blades and sighing softly in his ear as they drift off to sleep.

He pictures it now, the worn stripy comforter and the mountain of pillows, and he pictures Martin, soft and relaxed. Jon takes a deep breath. ‘My turn, then? I’m, ah—I’m in bed, too; I’m lying down. I’ve got a pillow under my knees.’

Martin laughs. ‘The old lumbago.’

‘Quite,’ Jon says drily. ‘And I’m—I’m wearing a jumper and tracksuit bottoms. And socks. My feet are cold.’

‘Why am I not surprised?’ Martin teases. ‘You’re doing so well, love. How are you feeling?’

‘A little awkward still,’ Jon admits. ‘But I’m okay. Can we—keep going?’

‘Course we can. How do you want to start?’ Martin considers. ‘Would you like to hear what I’d be doing if I were there with you, or is that too—?’

‘Maybe not that,’ Jon says, grateful that Martin is checking in with his boundaries. If he starts thinking about what they’d be doing if they were actually in the room together—and he was being touched, and being looked at, and being _seen—_ that opens a whole new line of anxieties and insecurities and discomforts that he’d prefer not to get into right now. ‘Can you, ah…touch yourself? And tell me what you’re doing? Please?’

‘I’d love to,’ Martin murmurs, and Jon hears fabric shifting. ‘I’m going to take my boxers off first—there we are. And I’m gonna take my cock in my hand. I’m still soft, but I don’t think I will be for long,’ he tells him, a hint of mischief in his voice. ‘Would you like to tell me how to touch myself?’

‘No,’ Jon decides. ‘You know yourself best.’ He hesitates before adding, ‘I want to hear how you make yourself feel good.’

‘I can do that,’ says Martin. Jon hears the smile in his voice, and then a sigh. ‘I’m stroking myself,’ he tells Jon. ‘Nice and slow, just warming up. Playing with the head a little’—a soft hitch in his voice—‘oh, that’s nice. Mm.’

‘Do you feel good?’ Jon asks, anxiously.

‘Yeah, sweetheart, I do.’ Warmth spreads through Jon’s chest at the use of the pet name. ‘What about you, though, hm?’ Martin reminds him. ‘D’you want to touch yourself too?’

Ever since they first made these plans, Jon has been gearing himself up for this, going back and forth, trying to predict how he’ll feel in the moment. He’s been afraid that he won’t feel like taking any part in the proceedings except by listening to Martin, even though Martin’s assured him that that’s totally okay. But now, in the moment, he’s pleasantly surprised to find that he _does_ want to touch himself. Hearing Martin telling him what he’s doing has already started to turn him on.

‘Yes,’ Jon says, and reaches into his briefs. He exhales in surprise when his fingers touch his folds and find them wet. ‘Did you hear that?’ he asks softly. ‘I’m getting wet already.’

‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ Martin says, his voice warm. His breathing has grown slightly strained, and Jon imagines his chest rising and falling shallowly, in time with movements of his hand on his cock. An unexpected shudder of desire runs through him at the thought. ‘Shall I tell you what I want you to do? How to touch yourself?’

‘Yes, please. I’m at your mercy,’ Jon says, and he’s only half-joking.

Martin gives a low laugh. ‘Careful,’ he says. ‘I don’t want this to be over _that_ quickly.’ Fabric rustles again, and Jon imagines him arching his hips, closing his fingers a little tighter around his cock. ‘Mm. How should we start?’ Martin says, his voice smooth. ‘I think I want you to stroke your cock for me. Tell me what it feels like.’

His tone of command, light as it is, goes right between Jon’s legs. Tentatively he touches his cock, already beginning to stand out from under its hood. It’s bigger than it was before he started T, of course, but he’s not expecting it to grow much larger than it is now; he tells Martin as much. ‘It’s…little,’ he says somewhat foolishly, feeling his face heat. ‘It’s, it’s getting hard, but it still fits— _ah—_ between my two fingers.’

‘Oh, _does_ it now,’ says Martin, his voice suffused with delight. ‘Mm, I think we’ll have to come back to that, don’t you? But not yet. I want to get you wetter first,’ he says, and Jon shivers. ‘Can you finger yourself for me, love? Inside?’

‘Yes,’ Jon whispers, slowly probing at his slit. He takes a breath and slides one finger inside himself. He’s not used to this, he never even liked to wear tampons when he used to menstruate; but he’s surprised to find that though the sensation is unfamiliar, it’s not at all unpleasant. He pushes a little deeper and sucks in a breath.

‘All right?’ Martin asks.

‘Yes,’ Jon says. ‘Good, actually. Really—really good.’

‘Good.’ Martin hums. ‘Are you wet?’

‘Mm,’ Jon says. ‘Yes.’ He takes two fingers and drags the new slickness up from his slit, all the way up to his cock, which responds readily to his touch. A soft moan escapes him. ‘I’m so wet,’ he repeats, almost in disbelief. ‘God, Martin, I’m—you turn me on so much.’

‘I’m so hard,’ Martin responds, his breathing growing heavier. ‘My cock is leaking, Jon, I’m so turned-on right now. Just picturing you, knowing that you’re doing what I tell you— _God._ You’re so good for me, so very, very good.’

‘Yes,’ Jon whispers, rubbing his cock with two fingers now, his hips moving, ‘I want to be good. I want to do whatever you tell me to. Please, Martin, I—’

‘Are you touching your cock again?’ Martin asks—demands—and oh, God, it’s a good thing he doesn’t use that tone at work or Jon would never get anything done. ‘I didn’t say you could do that, did I?’

‘No,’ Jon admits, and stops moving his hand. He can’t hold in a little whine at the loss of the sensation.

‘I want to try something,’ Martin says, his voice thoughtful. ‘I want you to tell me if it sounds good. And if it doesn’t, we won’t do it. Understood?’

‘Yes.’

‘I want to humiliate you,’ Martin says. ‘Just a little, though. Nothing serious, nothing—personal.’

‘So nothing like the way I used to talk to you,’ says Jon drily.

Martin laughs. ‘No, nothing like that,’ he says with affection. ‘I want to talk about that little cock of yours. I want to talk about just how _little_ it is. Is that something you’d be up for?’

‘Yes,’ Jon murmurs, feeling his cheeks grow hot. He’s never cared that much about how big it is (or isn’t), and he’s never had any desire for surgery—but if Martin wants to mock him for its size, he won’t be complaining. ‘Tell me.’

‘You said it fits between two fingers?’ Martin says. His tone has shifted; his voice is dripping with scorn. ‘That’s pathetic. That’s nothing. That’s hardly a cock at all, is it, Jon?’

‘No,’ Jon admits, his voice quiet. ‘It’s small. It’s—it’s nothing.’

‘Are you touching it now?’

‘Yes.’

‘I hardly see the point,’ Martin says dismissively. ‘If it’s that small, can it even feel anything? Does it even _do_ anything? You couldn’t fuck anyone with it.’

Jon gives a moan, feeling his whole body flushing with heat. He rolls his cock between his fingers and whimpers. ‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘I—I can’t do anything, it’s useless.’

‘You know what you need,’ Martin tells him, ‘is a real cock. I bet you wanna know what it feels like, hm? Wanna see what you’re missing?’

‘Yes,’ Jon whines, his eyes squeezing shut. ‘Yes, yes, please.’

‘Fuck yourself,’ Martin orders him. ‘Stuff yourself full and pretend it’s a real cock.’

‘Your cock?’ Jon asks breathlessly.

‘D’you want my cock inside you?’

 _‘Yes,_ Martin, yes.’

‘Oh, I bet you do. I bet you’re all wet for me, just waiting for me to fill you up, aren’t you?’ Martin says disdainfully. The more derisive he sounds, the more turned-on Jon gets. ‘Are you fucking yourself like I told you?’

‘Yes, _yes,’_ Jon gasps, plunging two fingers inside himself. He’s even wetter than he was before, and they go easily into the tight, hot space of his cunt. He moans and arches, fucking into himself, grinding his palm messily against his cock—it slides in his slickness, he can’t put enough pressure on it. ‘Martin,’ he begs, ‘Martin, please, I need you.’

‘What do you need? Tell me.’

Jon can hear Martin touching himself, the whisper of flesh on flesh, the way his breath comes in short gasps. He wonders what he looks like; he finds himself seized with the desire to see him, to _know_ him, in such a state, and for a moment _wants_ so desperately to be with him, in a way he never has before. Jon moans, low in his throat, and obeys. ‘I need you inside me,’ he tells him, his voice shaking. ‘I need you to fill me up and fuck me hard, and—and touch my, my cock, and tell me how small it is, how pathetic it is— _I_ am—’ He breaks off, gasping.

‘That’s right,’ Martin says, his voice almost a growl. ‘It’s nothing. I could fit it all between my fingertips, I could suck the whole thing into my mouth and hardly feel a thing, couldn’t I, Jon? And you’d like it.’

‘Yes,’ Jon says, nearly sobbing. ‘Yes, Martin, I like it, I want it, I—’

His words are cut off in a choking moan as he comes, forcefully, violently, clenching around his fingers as his body spasms. He feels a rush of moisture and realises, with something like mortified amazement, that he’s come as close to ejaculating as he’s capable; and when he can breathe again, inspecting his hand, he tells Martin, ‘I came, I came for you, I’ve made such a mess.’

‘So it’s good for something after all, huh?’ Martin replies. His voice is his own again; he is breathless and laughing on the other line. He must be close, too, going by the little grunts and groans that escape him, sending warm tremors through Jon. ‘Oh, sweetheart, you’re so good, you’re so good for me,’ he praises Jon, and then he gives a soft cry, and Jon hears his pleasure overtake him.

‘Oh,’ Jon whispers, listening, ‘oh, Martin, Martin.’ He wants to say more; he can’t find the words.

Finally, a last sweet gasp, and then a long, sated sigh. ‘Good?’ Jon asks tentatively.

Martin laughs, a low, satisfied rumble. ‘Oh, very.’

‘Good.’

‘So,’ Martin begins, after a moment or two of comfortable silence in which Jon listens to his breathing. ‘How was that?’

Jon takes stock. ‘Good,’ he says. ‘Yes. Much— _much_ better than I’d expected. No offence,’ he adds quickly.

Martin laughs. ‘None taken; I know you were nervous. Thanks for taking the chance.’

‘Thank _you._ I never would’ve done anything like this with anyone but you,’ Jon tells him softly. ‘I’m—I’m safe with you. I know I am. Always.’

‘Always,’ Martin repeats immediately. _‘Always,_ Jon, no matter what.’

‘Thank you.’ Again, the words feel inadequate; Jon wishes he had better ones. 

‘All right,’ Martin says, businesslike. ‘I need you to go get some water, okay? And have you eaten?’

‘I ate before, yeah,’ Jon says, clasping the phone to his ear as he clambers out of bed and pads into the kitchen. ‘Leftover daal. Protein and everything.’ He fills a glass and drinks as Martin directs him:

‘Have something else before bed, just something little. A piece of toast or something, all right?’

‘Right, yeah.’ Jon obediently pops some bread in the toaster and leans against the counter waiting for it to beep. He stretches, yawns, runs a hand through his hair; he feels loose, pleasantly worn-out. ‘Anything else? Oh, hang on, I’ll just take my meds.’

‘Good boy.’ 

Something warm curls in Jon’s stomach. ‘Mm, don’t start up with that,’ he says with a soft laugh, swallowing the last of his nighttime pills. ‘We’ll be here all night.’

‘Sorry, sorry!’ Jon can exactly picture Martin’s expression, wide-eyed and bashful. ‘Hard to turn it off. Sorry.’ He clears his throat. ‘All right. How are you feeling now? Eating your toast?’

‘Mmph,’ says Jon through a buttered mouthful.

‘Good. Good, that’s good. God, I wish I could do all this for you,’ Martin says with a sigh. ‘I love the sex part, obviously, but the aftercare...Yeah, that’s the good stuff.’

Jon laughs again, biting into a crust. ‘Well, I mean,’ he says. ‘You know I hate to have people...do things for me.’

‘I do know that, yes,’ Martin interjects grouchily.

‘But it’s different,’ Jon presses, speaking over him. ‘When it’s you. I...like it. I like it when you...take care of me.’

‘Oh,’ says Martin, very small. ‘Oh. I mean, I—I hoped that was the case, I hoped I wasn’t—Right. I’m—I’m glad to hear that, Jon. Really glad.’ Jon can hear him smiling. ‘I like taking care of you.’

‘You’re very good at it.’ Jon sets his plate in the sink and heads back to bed, fresh glass of water in tow. ‘Putting you down for a minute, don’t hang up,’ he tells Martin. He pulls off his jumper and climbs back between the covers, sighing when he hooks his knees over the pillow again and feels his lower back relax. He reaches for his phone. ‘All right, I’m back. In bed, that is.’

‘A very good place to be,’ Martin says approvingly. ‘How are you feeling now?’

‘Good,’ Jon replies. ‘Still good. Better. Very good.’ He runs a hand absently over his stomach. ‘Good enough to suggest that we could, ah, do this again sometime. If you like.’

‘Which part? The phone sex? Making fun of your sweet little cock until you come? Or just telling you to make toast?’ Martin teases. ‘All of the above?’

‘All of the above. Please and thank you.’

‘Course we can. We could even try it in person sometime,’ Martin suggests. ‘If you like.’

Jon hesitates. He remembers that surge of _wanting,_ like a match touched to some inner flame—but now, after, its heat makes him wary. ‘I, ah…Not yet?’ he answers. ‘I’m still…Yeah. Lots to unpack. But. Uh.’ He clears his throat. ‘It’s not off the table. I would say it’s…even more _on_ the table than, uh, it was before. Before this.’ He finds himself miming pushing an invisible object to the centre of an equally invisible table, before he remembers that Martin can’t see him. He rolls his eyes at himself. ‘One day, is what I’m trying to say. Not yet, but…one day.’

‘Okay,’ Martin says easily. ‘I can work with one day.’

‘You’re sure?’ Even after this, even after everything Martin has reassured him of in their prior conversations—not to mention done for him tonight—Jon can’t let go of the fear that he won’t be enough for him, that everything he _isn’t_ willing to do will pile up and form an insurmountable obstacle between them. He knows that Tim and Martin still hook up, and he’s grateful for it, for Martin’s sake as much as his own; but he knows too that, if Jon is up to it, Martin wants to have sex with him, too, someday. Jon is afraid that Martin’s ‘someday’ and his own ‘one day’ are on parallel timelines that will never meet.

‘Of course I’m sure.’

Jon can hear Martin breathing again, slow and steady. If he closes his eyes he can almost pretend they’re in bed together, settling in for a nap, Martin’s hand tracing softly up and down Jon’s back. He feels safer now, picturing this, and the knowledge finally settles over him like a blanket: that Martin means it, that his words are sincere, that he will wait for Jon as long as it takes. He’ll be here. He _is_ here, even now.

‘Okay,’ Jon says. ‘I believe you.’

‘Good,’ says Martin, softly, softly, and Jon can hear him smiling. ‘Um,’ Martin adds suddenly. ‘Also. One last thing. You know I didn’t mean it, right? About your cock.’

Jon laughs. ‘What about it? It’s small. No one’s disputing that.’

‘Okay, yes, but, ah...it’s real. It’s a real cock. You know that, right?’ Martin sounds anxious.

‘Yeah, sweetheart,’ Jon says, touched somehow to be the one doing the reassuring for once. ‘It was dirty talk, that’s all. I, ah, got your drift.’

‘Okay. Okay. I just wanted to be sure.’ Martin hesitates. ‘I love your body. You know that, right? I know I haven’t—met it yet—not really—but I love it, and it’s wonderful, and not just because it’s yours.’

‘Oh, Martin,’ Jon says softly, and for once he feels like it’s enough. 

A quiet moment passes. Jon feels warm—even his feet aren’t cold anymore—and he feels safe; he feels like he could drift away. He gives a small yawn that soon turns expansive, turning his head away from the phone.

A little laugh from Martin. ‘You sound sleepy, my love.’

‘I am,’ Jon admits, eyes still closed. ‘That was…a lot.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’

‘Mm. You should get some rest.’

Jon sighs heavily. He doesn’t sleep well, never has, especially not since taking the Archive job—unless he’s in Martin’s arms. Tonight he’ll settle for the next best thing. ‘Will you…talk to me?’ he asks. ‘Until I fall asleep.’

‘Of course I will.’

And Martin takes a deep breath, and then starts talking; and where his words had once been a ruthless onslaught, calculated to humiliate, now they are warm and soothing as slipping into a bath, and Jon lets himself sink.

 _I’m here,_ Martin tells him, _I’m here and I’ve got you and I’m staying, and we have all the time in the world._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very kindly to [Rox](http://twitter.com/zawehzawah) and [Alex](http://twitter.com/jonfuckery) for being wonderful betas and sensitivity readers. I'm on Twitter [here](http://twitter.com/saintmontague)! 💖


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